


break him in

by mellyface



Series: Club President [2]
Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: (on a dick), Facial, M/M, Oral Sex, love u eichi, love u hajime, mild choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 19:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7545010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyface/pseuds/mellyface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hajime’s mouth opens slightly then closes again, like he's not sure he knows what he's supposed to do, or whether it's okay to ask if he doesn't.</p><p>“Hajime-kun, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I’m not expecting you to suck it.”</p><p>Hajime’s shoulders sag visibly with relief. Eichi continues. </p><p>“Just try getting used to it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	break him in

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to hell for this, but at least there's no pee this time.
> 
> This is a sequel/same AU as my last eihaji fic but it's totally not necessary for you to read that first if you don't want to!
> 
> I promise....someday....I'll write a cute happy shinonon fic to make it up to him for writing him as a pervert.......cries sorry for dirtying u my boy
> 
> (as usual I wrote/am posting this on my phone so sorry for weird formatting or errors!)

“Are you nervous?”

Hajime shakes his head too quickly, the indents of his fingertips in the cushion between Eichi’s thighs betraying his nerves

“I would rather you be honest.”

Whenever Eichi scolds him it's forgiving, with a smile--for which Hajime is grateful.

“You can be nervous, you know, Hajime-kun. It's perfectly understandable.”

Hajime nods, but doesn't quite relax, “I am, a little.”

He smiles apologetically like he thinks Eichi would prefer a more experienced partner, and honestly that's adorable. If Hajime was already experienced there would be no point to _breaking him in_ , which is entirely what makes this so good.  
For now Eichi resists the urge to touch Hajime too much, his fingers hovering just above the boy’s soft blue fringe before going to his own zipper instead.

Hajime swallows; the ground already feels too hard and sore beneath his knees, which, incidentally, he's concentrating all his efforts to keep from trembling. He's gonna see it, he realizes only now for the first time.  
The first time he'd had his back to the president and hadn't actually seen it, only seen the outlines of it in his pants--only felt it _slide_ between his thighs, he remembers with a shiver. Suddenly he feels totally naked and unprepared; a hot prickling sensation flushes from the tip of his scalp down to the back of his neck, but his hands, folded in front of his face atop the seat of Eichi's chair, keep him firmly grounded in his place.

Eichi sucks in a quiet breath as he tugs the zipper down and pulls open the front of his pants. Even just one layer less is freeing, when he's already this hard. Truthfully, he'd relished the idea of stroking himself to full hardness in front of Hajime--or better yet, watching Hajime give it his best try, fumbling with it himself in his un-spoiled hands--but the thought alone had gotten him half hard already. Seeing Hajime sink obediently to his knees and perched between his thighs, gazing up at him in reverence, then, had done the rest.

Below, Hajime’s mouth breaks into a wavy line as Eichi’s lovely fingers dip into the waistband of his own underwear. He feels vaguely like he's going to be sick, but not with disgust. It's as though a too-strong wave has just sucked him below the surface, heavy and crushing the air from his lungs, and now he's come up dizzy.

The anticipation is more weighty than the actual thing. Eichi reaches in and emerges, dick in hand. It's rather unceremonious, but it's still definitely the president's dick, and he's offering it to Hajime--who isn't sure if he's supposed to reach up and take it, or what. His fingers fidget indecisively in front of him like he's contemplating if it's safe to touch--if he even _wants_ to touch. He can't be 100% sure, but he thinks he does, probably. 

Whether or not Eichi truly believes Hajime intends to grab it, he lets go all the same; his cock bounces forward and nudges into the boy’s blushed cheek. A small murmur of alarm escapes his tightly drawn mouth.

“Ah.”

Hajime stills, as if a snake is slithering at his feet. He's glad he's kept his hands firmly on the chair after all, or he probably would have stumbled backwards in surprise. But he wills himself to calm, listens to his heart rate slowly settle as he silently commands it to, and gradually shifts his attention back on Eichi.

He can't fully see it, as it rests gently on his cheek out of his his direct line of sight, and somehow it feels rude to sneak a peek out the corner of his eye, but from what he can tell, Eichi has a very nice dick. Not that Hajime would know what that even is, but he feels like he would at least know if it was bad or even just ordinary and this one just _feels_ like it's really nice. It's really warm, too, which is saying something because he's pretty sure his face is already super warm, too.

“How is it?”

Hajime becomes suddenly aware that he's just been sitting here frozen with a dick laying against his face, not really doing or saying anything. He burns with embarrassment.

How is it. Eichi is probably really asking how is _he_ \--asking whether or not this is too much for him--rather than for an appraisal of his junk. Because what good is Hajime’s lowly, virgin opinion on that?

“It's warm.” he answers awkwardly, innocently, and can't tell if he's only imagining that he maybe just felt Eichi’s cock stiffen against his face.

“Good. That's a pretty favorable answer, all things considered.”

Eichi pushes back a section of Hajime’s fringe, gliding his fingertips over the boy’s forehead before idly watching the hair fall back into place. He keeps his touch feather-light, but can’t help wondering how much pressure he even need add to tip his head and bare that supple throat.

Hajime’s mouth opens slightly then closes again, like he's not sure he knows what he's supposed to do, or whether it's okay to ask if he doesn't.

“Hajime-kun, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I’m not expecting you to suck it.”

Hajime’s shoulders sag visibly with relief. Eichi continues.

“Just try getting used to it.”

“Okay.”

He manages a nod and the smooth head of Eichi’s cock presses into the fat of his cheek; Eichi’s eyes sharpen into slivers as he smiles down at him.

Hajime really is beautiful, looking up at Eichi with wide, violet eyes brimming with the utmost trust and adoration in spite of his also very obvious trepidation. His cheeks are pink and rosy, lips too--much like a girl, though it's all the better that he's not, as Eichi has never had much fondness for women. This kind of beauty is unique to boys like Hajime, skin white, smooth and pure like porcelain but fragile and weak as an eggshell. One squeeze of his hand and he can imagine Hajime’s stuffing running out all over his clenched fingers.

He could tell Hajime what a beauty he is, but he doesn't particularly feel like sharing--not when it serves him better otherwise. It's not as though Hajime is self deprecating, but he’s polite to a fault and in some cases that gets to be more tiresome than endearing. Seeing Hajime flustered from compliments has far less appeal than seeing him flustered in other certain ways.

Such as this.

Eichi curls his spindly fingers round the base of his cock in a loose hold, guiding it once more towards Hajime’s face. It slides up his cheek, dragging the skin upwards and nudging at the soft film of his lower eyelid. He’s being invasive on purpose, impressed by Hajime’s silent endurance. One of Eichi’s fingers darts out to nudge at his lower lip and his eyelids flit closed in submission. The utterly perverse sensation of Hajime’s _eyelashes_ brushing against his cock sends heat roiling through him--he can’t keep out visions of Hajime covered in ropes of his cum, eyelashes wet and clumping together under the slippery weight of it. Just the thought is almost enough to do him in right then and there if only he was not so depraved already--as if fantasy alone is still enough to sate him.

This is bad; he's supposed to be teasing Hajime, not getting himself worked up. But if the flaring warmth of the cheek pressed flush to the length of Eichi’s cock is any indication, Hajime is wound up just as tight. He simply is taking his time, _savoring_ Eichi and and _learning_ him, which is cute, but also begets impatience.

“Why don't you try licking it,” Eichi suggests gently.

And when his beloved president is smiling like that, how can he say no?

Eichi's thumb plucks at his bottom lip and dips between the seam of his lips, dragging down; Hajime’s mouth falls obediently open. Oh how he'd love to flatten his fingers over that small, pink tongue, to slide into the back of his throat and press down--another time, perhaps. For now, Eichi guides the tip of his cock towards the boy’s mouth, cupping his chin with his free hand to pull him forward.

Hajime’s heart is somewhere lodged in his throat, at this point, but he doesn’t shy away. Being chosen by Eichi to do this kind of thing feels pretty special, after all.

“I feel kind of pervy...”

Hajime’s voice is small and soft, and there’s no mistaking the fear, shame and excitement wrapped all up into one that’s hitched in his throat--with Eichi’s dick lopped against the side of his open mouth, no less. He dabs his tongue out and flicks it experimentally over the tip.

Eichi grinds out a low sound at that and strokes the side of Hajime’s face in possession, pressing and thorough. He smoothes the contour of a cheekbone with his thumb, catches a finger on the hollow of his ear, hooks another under his jaw, and Hajime responds in kind by smearing his lips shyly over the underside of his cock.

It's kind of underwhelming, taste-wise, or rather he'd expected it to taste a lot worse, or weirder, but it just tastes like skin. This is encouraging enough, so Hajime braces himself to just put the darn thing in his mouth. _It's just a skin-flavored lollipop_ , he tells himself, _you can do this Hajime!_

Once it's in his mouth, though, he realizes it's a lot bigger than he'd thought. He's not even doing anything and already his jaw feels sore. Also he isn't really sure what he's even supposed to do at this point.

He tries moving, bobbing his head forward and back in a way that at least feels like it's close to how he's seen done it the two or three times he's ever braved a look at porn, but his mouth is filling up with drool and it feels like it's gonna spill out if he moves too much. God, he's so awkward at this, isn't he.

Eichi must sense his hesitation, though, because he just smiles and weaves a hand through his hair.

“Easy now,” he soothes, as if Hajime can even respond with his mouth full. “Try swallowing.”

Swallowing?! Does he mean his….? Hajime almost chokes in panic, there's no way the president is going to come already, is he--and he’s not sure he's ready or even knows how to swallow a guy’s come. His throat feels like it's closing up in response just thinking about it, his cheeks hollowing as he tries to keep from choking, a mouthful of spit and salty precome escaping down the back of his throat as he manages a hard, nervous swallow.

Eichi rewards him with a fairly loud groan that has Hajime blushing with pride (as well embarrassment, as he realizes after the fact that Eichi must have meant it this way all along--that is, swallowing his drool, not….the other thing.)

Hajime sucks in again, a little too hard, and Eichi jolts, biting off a curse. He'd known as much going into this that Hajime wasn't going to be any good at it, but there's always room to learn. And the way his face is turned up toward him almost completely makes up for it, wide eyes curious and searching like all he wants more than anything is to do it right, even when his cheeks are flushed and damp and his lips swollen and stretched around his cock. Eichi massages fondly at his scalp.

“You look so good like this.”

Hajime melts at his words, no doubt trying to picture how he must appear to Eichi’s eyes right now. A shiver rolls through him as a fist curls into the hair at the base of his neck.

Precious Hajime. He's just like a butterfly, delicate and fluttering, and Eichi wants nothing more than to crumple those wings in the palm of his hand.

He can always teach him properly next time.

Eichi takes Hajime by his hair and shoves down into the back of his throat. The slide of his slick tongue is heavenly, and the tightness of his throat, barricaded against him, has him gritting his teeth.

“Relax, Hajime, open up.” Eichi himself doesn't sound near as composed as he would like.

Hajime goes limp and pliant in his grasp, shutting his eyes but not pinching tightly, lids hovering loose rather like a doll. He's placing his trust in Eichi, and that's a beautiful thing. Too bad Eichi just wants to choke him.

He fucks up into his mouth, hunching forward as Hajime's composure breaks, as he coughs and splutters around him, drool trickling down his chin before he can remember to swallow and breathe through his nose. Soft, high-pitched hiccups of surprise throb against Eichi's cock buried in the boy’s throat and heat curls in the pit of his belly.

This hardly constitutes as a blow job at this point, he is completely and freely fucking Hajime’s face--but that's fine too. More than the actual physical sensation of it, it's the thoughts of Hajime completely debauched by his handiwork that really get him.

Hajime probably must hate it, but he's enduring it anyway, and isn't that sweet. His eyes are rightfully screwed shut now and pricked with tears and when Eichi finally pulls out with a final hard tug at the back of his head, a soft wail rolls off his swollen tongue.

He coughs and chokes but tries to hold it in. All Hajime can think as the air slowly returns to his lungs and some clarity to his mind, is how very thankful he is that the president didn't spill his load down his throat.

Now that his eyes are open, Eichi is a vision above him. His eyelids are heavy and his hair hangs down in a golden halo framing his shadowed, concentrated face. Hajime wants to call out to him but all he can do is continue to cough and gasp.

“You're so good,” Eichi purrs, hand taking over in place of Hajime's mouth. He strokes himself just centimeters away from the boy’s face. He's close. “So good and so cute. You worked so hard.”

Hajime is utterly captured by the praise; it's almost as if he knows what comes next, the way he's just waiting for it, watching him patiently. That or he's just too dazed and out of breath to move.

“I'm so proud of you.”

Eichi’s brows knit tight and he bites down on the inside of his lip as his come shoots out all over Hajime’s face. To his own surprise, a lot comes out, landing in ribbons across the bridge of his nose and streaking those lovely cheeks. It drips down his hair over his eyelids and smears his lips. It takes a second for the boy to register what's just happened on his face, and even longer to actually process it.

Eichi, slouched over while he recovers from his orgasm, thinks foggily that he'd like to preserve this image in his memory forever, if possible.

Meanwhile Hajime’s heart is racing. He should dislike it more, considering how his jaw aches and he feels nauseous and dizzy and used. But he's somehow half-hard in his pants and can only describe the feeling of having Eichi come on his face as something like receiving a present. Or some kind of honor.

In a haze, he feels something swab his cheek only to realize belatedly that Eichi has retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to wipe him down with it. Hajime's lips tingle in the wake of his touch, though this is maybe also just because they're sore.

What he doesn't expect though is for Eichi to lean down and press his own mouth suddenly to his. Hajime promptly forgets that Eichi has ever done anything unpleasant to him at all.

“Well then,”

Eichi scoots out his chair behind him and kneels almost like a prince, taking up Hajime’s chin in his hand in one swift movement. His gaze flickers down between Hajime’s legs and up again. The corner of his eyes turn up in a smile.

He knows.

“Now what shall we do about this?”


End file.
